บททั้งหมดของ Daddy's filthy little pet : บทที่ 201 - บทที่ 210

Killian’s POVThe door clicked shut behind her—soft, final—and suddenly the pool house felt too quiet, too empty. I stood there for a long second, hand still pressed flat against the wood like I could reach through it and pull her back.My palm tingled where her cheek had been moments ago, lips still tasting like strawberries and her tongue and the faint salt of everything we’d done since midnight.Through the narrow window beside the door I watched her cross the yard.Rae moved carefully—back straight, towel wrapped tight around her like armor—but I could see the subtle hitch in her step, the way her thighs pressed together just a little too firmly with every stride. She was feeling me. Every sticky drop I’d left inside her, every bruise blooming under her skin from my hands and mouth and teeth. She was carrying me back into that house like a secret tattoo no one else could see.Fuck.My cock twitched against the towel knotted low on my hips—already half-hard again just from watchi

Rae's POVBreakfast wrapped up in that awkward, forced-normal way it always did these days—Mom clearing plates with her usual chatter, Victor mumbling something about work emails, Bianca sipping her tea like she was the queen of the damn table. I kept my eyes on my half-eaten pancakes, ignoring the way her gaze lingered on me, sharp and calculating. My phone burned in my pocket with Killian's last text, but I didn't dare check it again. Not with her watching.I stood to help Mom with the dishes, needing something to do with my hands. Anything to distract from the ache between my thighs, the sticky reminder of him that made every shift in my seat a secret thrill.Bianca cleared her throat delicately. "Rae, sweetie, could you grab me a glass of water? This tea's a bit too herbal for my taste this morning. Baby's making me so thirsty."Her voice was all sugar, but something in her eyes felt off—too bright, too eager. I shrugged it off, filling a glass from the sink and sliding it across

Rae’s POVThe first thing I noticed when consciousness crept back was the warmth. Not just any warmth—the kind that seeps into your bones and makes every ache feel distant, like the world outside can’t quite reach you. Killian’s arm was still locked around my waist, heavy and unmoving, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths against my back. The blanket had slipped down to our hips sometime during my nap, but his body heat was enough. More than enough.I didn’t move right away. I just lay there, letting my eyes trace the lines of him.His forearm—thick, corded with muscle, covered in those dark tattoos that twisted like smoke and vines—curved protectively over my stomach. The ink stopped just short of his wrist, leaving a strip of bare skin that looked almost vulnerable. I followed it up to his shoulder, the swell of his bicep, the faint scar from some old motorcycle accident he’d laughed off once like it was nothing. Then his neck—strong column of muscle, Adam’s appl

Bianca’s POVThe clinic smelled like antiseptic and old money—sharp, clinical, expensive. I’d chosen this place deliberately: forty minutes outside the city, tucked behind a row of tasteful evergreens, the kind of private lab that catered to celebrities who didn’t want their paternity scandals splashed across tabloids. No neon signs, no crowded waiting rooms full of sniffly kids. Just polished marble floors, soft leather chairs, and a receptionist who didn’t ask questions when I handed her my black card.I paced the length of the small private waiting area, heels clicking too loudly against the stone. My hand rested automatically on the curve of my belly—habit now, part performance, part genuine anxiety. The baby kicked once, a lazy roll that made me pause and press my palm harder. Not yours, little one. Not his. Not anyone who matters. Just leverage.Three days. Killian had given me three fucking days.I could still see his face when he’d stormed into the living room after Rae ra

Rae’s POVMy hands wouldn’t stop shaking even after I left the house.The DNA report was still seared into my brain—those cold black words on the crisp white paper: “Paternity Probability: 99.9998%.” Killian was the father. Bianca’s baby was his. I had stared at the page so long the letters started to blur, but the truth refused to blur with them.I couldn’t look at him. Not when his face had drained of color beneath the ink of his tattoos, not when his mouth had opened and my name had come out in that low, rough voice that used to make every part of me soften. “Kitten—” he had started, reaching for me. I had spun away before his fingers could close around my wrist, tears already burning tracks down my cheeks.Betrayed didn’t even begin to cover it.After everything we had done— after the way he had claimed me so completely that first night without even knowing my real name, after every hidden moment in the pool house, every whispered promise against my skin while the rest of the fa